Fish Bones, Goblins' Teeth, and a Bit of Bat Wing
by CrackinAndProudOfIt
Summary: Formerly a 100-day countdown to "An Unexpected Journey", now 100 bookverse drabbles for The Hobbit. All genres, all characters, non-chronological, major SPOILERS!
1. Introduction

Introduction

He had found himself face to face with the coarse surface of the hobbit's doormat, all the suffocating weight of Bombur bearing down upon him. It had been unbecoming; it had been humiliating, but his own wounded pride was now being nursed by a single glance at the Halfling before him.

Simple white shirt and suspenders; brown fingers that seemed to wring one another of their own accord; and stuttering lips gushing forth apology after apology. _Pathetic._

"Pray, don't mention it," he finally grunted, glancing all the while toward Gandalf with eyes that he hoped clearly inquired:

Is _this _your burglar?


	2. Love

Love

It had taken no debate whatsoever for me to decide I ought to follow them. I _never _let my children leave alone, much less in the care of thirteen (rather an unlucky number, I daresay) dwarves.

They have not seen me, a guardian shadow beneath the light of the moon, a feral presence lurking just beyond their campground, obscured by the reeds and grasses of the green country between Mirkwood and the Carrock.

But I am here, watching with the eyes of a parent, waiting with every muscle tensed, for some act of cruelty to befall any of my little ones. Though even the ponies may not know it, they are safe.


	3. Light

3. Light

This sort of light had yet to have positive consequences for Bilbo. The steady, reddish glow emanating from the other end of the tunnel only filled him with a sense of foreboding; it was like firelight, and firelight had thus far always proved a detriment to him.

From the trolls' cooking-fire, to the Goblins' fire in the valley, to the alluring fires of the Wood-elves in the trackless wilds of Mirkwood, Bilbo had learned all too well that a blaze's ruddy illumination typically heralded disaster.

When light too becomes dangerous, it is little better than darkness.


	4. Dark

4. Dark

Invisible in the darkness, we waited. It had been long, too long, since last our Precious was truly needed here beside the lake. Over the centuries, we had began to blend in with the shadows, form growing ever more waif-like, ever closer to the nothingness we had become.

The goblins knew nothing of what we truly were- to our benefit. If it was to be known that the stalking shadow beside the lake was nothing more than the shrinking ghost of what once was a Stoor, they would have killed us the moment they found out.

But finally, here was a creature like ourself; here was a creature who would not slay us, not yet, not yet.

_And in the darkness of the cave, Bilbo saw the gleam of eyes._

**A/N: **

**I'd just like to say a quick thank-you to my guest reviewer Siobhan! It's great hearing your feedback. **

**Reviews in mind, do drop me one, if you've the inclination! I'm more than open to feedback, and requests, too. :)**

**-Crackers**


	5. Seeking Solace

5. Seeking Solace

"I need to think," said Bilbo, and rising from the meal-time circle he crossed the snail-covered cleft to sit alone against the mountainside. The rock was cool on his back, and far from comfortable- just like every other day on the doorstep- but by now he had learned to ignore it, learned to let his mind wander.

Hugging his knees to his chest against a belligerent late autumn breeze, his eyes implored the ashen horizon for sight of anything beyond this hopeless mountaintop. Far past the Misty Mountains, cobalt on the edge of visibility, he saw green. Somewhere off in that green-ness was a hobbit hole, and a stack of dirty breakfast dishes still waiting to be washed.


	6. Break Away

6. Break Away

Fortunately (or perhaps not so) for Nori, his vessel of escape had once been a cask of wine. After the first hour or so, he had hoped the heady scent would put him to sleep (and out of his current discomfort), but even in the most watertight (though he knew it not) of the barrels, he found himself damp, cramped, and generally miserable.

Battered when the barrel hit rocks, terrified when it procured the tiniest leak, the dwarf was fantasizing about the dungeons of Thranduil. _So slow death was the second great escape plan of Bilbo Baggins. _

Somehow, the hobbit's ideas about the spiders had seemed much more sensible.


	7. Heaven

7. Heaven

Even the brightest of Varda's stars shone muted tonight in comparison with the crescent moon. Mounted in the inky night-sky, Tilion shot his argent rays down into the valley, sent them bouncing off waterfalls, off marble floors and balustrades, and onto the surface of the balcony through the weathered parchment of the Map.

Slowly, slowly, as a cloud had crept its way off of Isil's pallid visage, silver runes took shape beneath Elrond's fingers. Careful pen-strokes of an age long past, they glimmered tonight as if they were but newly set down. Under the same midsummer sky, the _ithildin _of Thorin's fathers knew nothing of time.


	8. Innocence

8. Innocence

It is an established fact that no one, great or small, good or evil, enters my realm without purpose. It is not a pleasant place to wander, where the dark trees grow so thickly together that they strangle all light, where the river runs foul and black, a flow of poison from the refuse of Dol Guldur, where the bulbous eyes of insects dwell in every shadow, where death and danger are said to lurk at any diversion from my people's roads.

O, you foolish Naugrim, think not that I am unfamiliar with the reputation of my kingdom; think not that I will believe you came here innocently.


	9. Drive

9. Drive

_**to press or force into an activity, course, or direction**_

I had no choice, really. What would you have done, put in my place, with the very town you spent your life building up on the brink of destruction before your very eyes? What would you have done, amid the flames leaping up, the stench of the dragon, the shrieks of the people you led?

This attack's end was all too apparent to my mind, and as I rushed through crowded streets, weaving my way around fires and debris and crowds of wailing bystanders, I must confess I saw no reason not to head directly for the boat and seek to escape with my life. I gave up hope.

_How could I have known I was wrong?_


	10. Breathe Again

10. Breathe Again

All it takes is one breath, one tiny inhale, the slightest exhale; that's all life is, isn't it? A constant effort- or for the lucky, not- to fill one's lungs with air, then empty them again. It has never been as difficult for me as now.

Laying beside the boulder, beside my brother, at the feet of my uncle where we have always seemed to dwell, staring up past a hail of black-feathered arrows to admire the ashen sky, the dart embedded in my own breast tells me I shall soon be welcomed into the arms of Mahal*****.

*****Mahal= Dwarvish name for Aulë, their Valarin maker


	11. Memory

11. Memory

He runs a calloused finger over the serpentine shape surmounting Erebor. The scarlet dragon stands out from the fading black lines of the ancient map like a bloodstain.

He will never forget that day.

Sole survivors- even before the attack on Erebor he had known something of the term's full meaning; Azanulbizar had been far from merciful. But the sight of the Lonely Mountain, smoking against a golden moon as he and the only remnant of Durin's Folk turned their backs on their kingdom, will haunt him far more.

Defeat is never as lenient as victory; surviving a loss means only one thing.

_This is not over._


	12. Insanity

12. Insanity

It would be alarmingly easy to become lost in here. Once one left the path, I imagine the trees would soon begin to blend together in a sea of tangled black branches, each as indistinguishable from its neighbour as one wave's white plume from another.

You would wander, for hours, days, months, never finding again your lost path, never even seeing sunlight, until at last the shadows began to play tricks on your mind. Teetering on the brink of insanity, soon you would see the pale eyes of insects even when there were none around you, hear footsteps behind you, crunching upon a bed of ancient leaves...

_"Don't leave the path!" _we were warned- and now I see why.


	13. Misfortune

13. Misfortune

By now I really ought to have begun to see that by an "adventure" the dwarves really meant an unlucky jaunt "over the Misty Mountains cold" and at last to the lair of all of our deaths.

From the very start, we've had nothing but misfortune: from the supplies washed downriver to the wrong cave, from Bombur's watery trance to the fires that should not have been so inviting- and now there's yet another to add to the list: a jeered parting-shot that cost me the hair on my heels.

Take my word, I am anything but lucky.


	14. Smile

14. Smile

"Thorin? Thorin Oakenshield?"

The dwarf in question had some time ago given up on notching a tally-mark calendar into the stone walls of Thranduil's most secure prison cell. It had been long- too long, even for one of the Khazâd- since he had last seen the light of day, and with the time he had grown more than despondent.

And now, at last, as it seemed the stalwart wooden door standing between him and freedom had acquired a voice, he was apparently losing his mind. But what could he do save play along?

"Who is it?" he said gruffly, approaching the keyhole for lack of anything better to do.

"Bilbo Baggins," came the reply.

"Then I really have gone mad," he mused, but it was with a chuckle, and the absurd notion brought a long-absent smile to his face.


	15. Silence

15. Silence

The dying grass of the clearing seemed to fight its way up through the earth, gasping for air and sun in a desperate quest to someday grow as tall as the rough fronds of bracken on the other side of the forest. The light of a full moon shone eerily down onto the sallow stubble, which extended as far as Dwalin's eyes could see.

There was nothing, only stillness, only silence; only the trees behind him, only the lifeless glade before him. He cast a wary glance about him in the darkness, hoping to read by the moonlight Thorin's- or Gandalf's- thoughts on the matter- and at once a feral howl pierced the air.


	16. Questioning

16. Questioning

How was this possible? In the hobbit's hand rested the fairest jewel I had ever seen; the Arkenstone of Thrain, the dwarves' diminutive servant had named it, and verily it was so: in all the glory and more that I had heard of in so many childhood tales in now-desolate Lake-town.

Again, the word "traitor" danced across my consciousness- but why? He was tired, he had said, tired of all of this dwarvish venture, and I could not blame him. But to surrender his profits from it for the sake of peace? To burgle the prize of all Smaug's hoard from under its heir's very nose? That was the highest level of desperation.


	17. Blood

17. Blood

This Dwarf- the King Under the Mountain? He looks more like a vagabond: soggy, weather-worn, clad in ragged, soiled garments still carrying the musty scent of my king's securest dungeon. The fell gleam in his eyes might belie his battered appearance, but I am not deceived: here is the same homeless dwarf who harassed our people at the autumn feast.

His brown hood may once have borne a different colour, but now it complements his essence- tarnished, having lost a battle with the wide world. He may claim a throne, but the Dwarf's supposedly royal blood has long dried around decidedly unbecoming wounds to his wrinkled brow.


	18. Rainbow

18. Rainbow

Even as we approached Bruinen, the rain seemed to slacken, diminishing from lashing torrents, to dancing drops, to finally no more than a quiet drizzle, and then nothing, only frowning, grey clouds above. The River's flow was mighty- mightier than usual- from the melting of snow high in the mountains and now from the veritable monsoon of the day, and Bilbo Baggins and I had led our mounts to its very brink.

The hobbit's eyes played across the swirling waters, but mine were fixed on the horizon ahead. Revealing itself amid the dreary clouds was a rainbow; only a small segment of it was visible, but I smiled to see it nonetheless. I bent down and placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, bidding him look up.

"Welcome home, Mr. Baggins," I said. The Wild was behind us.

**Happy Hobbit Day to all! =D**


	19. Grey

19. Grey

"There lies all that is left of Dale." The words are melancholy from Balin's lips as he stands on the tall bank of Celduin, surveying the grey valley beneath the Lonely Mountain. What is creeping toward two centuries of vacancy as a fief of Smaug has been far from gracious to the vale.

Lofty towers now crumble into dust beneath the somber sky; the merry bells have long ago rusted; the town's hue is that of ash, from age- and from what it was reduced to on that fateful day. Dragon-fire burns hot for a moment, but in the end even it leaves only grey.


	20. Fortitude

20. Fortitude

A sojourn to the Misty Mountains takes a lot; a sojourn beyond them takes even more. It takes a certain kind of courage- the sort that prepares itself in advance, the sort that is present even when it is seemingly unnecessary, the sort that is found in natural deposit among a certain sort of person, the sort that can't appear in a tight spot and then simply vanish until the next crisis is encountered.

It is a high standard to hold my company's members to, I know this, but not to have it would be infinitely worse for us all.


	21. Vacation

21. Vacation

_**an act or instance of vacating**_

In all the commotion, anguished cries of goblins burned in the shower of sparks, the fighting begun by those very creatures as the torches were extinguished, Gloin scarcely realized he had been following the bluish illumination of an immense sword and the swift, sharp commands of an authoritative voice.

In the darkness of the tunnel outside the chaotic goblin-hall, he regained both his breath and his reason only just in time to see Gandalf ignite his staff once more and slice apart the dwarves' shackles with ease: their second narrow escape.

What was it that gave him the feeling this could not be their last?


	22. Mother Earth

22. Mother Nature

You are the antithesis, the twisted, darkened mangling of all I stand for. How I have mourned for you Lasgalen, forest of the greenest leaves, and now the greatest expanse, in all the Hither Lands. Poisoned, dimmed, and at last overshadowed, even your very name has become mutilated: Mirkwood- or Taur-nu-Fuin- a second forest under the black sway of Sauron.

You are now nothing more than a snare, and now you seem to have caught even the weapon of your new lord. The Ring wanders hapless, entrapped in your tangled clutches; if it wanders far enough, all of Middle-earth will soon resemble you.

**A/N: For those this drabble has managed to confuse (such as myself ;), the narrator is Yavanna, "Mother Earth" herself.**


	23. Cat

23. Cat

_"No-legs lay on one leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some."_

The riddle came out of Bilbo's mouth as soon as it came into his head; "fish" as his previous response had started the process, and only by the time he finished his recitation did he realize his mistake.

Fish. No-legs was apparent to Gollum's mind, as apparent as the answer to the last riddle he posed had seemed to him. One leg, two-legs, three-legs, four-legs- the rest fell into place like it appeared this "Baggins" would fall prey to him.

_"Fish on a little table, man at table sitting on a stool, the cat has the bones."_ Gollum was always the man at table: or was he the cat?


	24. No Time

24. No Time

The last ray of autumn's sun caught on the ancient thrush's ebony feathers as a trilling escaped his beak. The splinter of rock had fallen from the mountain; the door had nearly taken shape. Perched now to the side of the "doorstep" he watched and waited as the dwarves fumbled and shouted for the key, making little of their narrow window of time.

Only too soon, the thrush knew, would the sunlight disappear, and with it the returning dwarves' sole chance at entering the mountain clandestinely. He watched, obsidian eyes trained upon the newcomers- and was relieved to hear a _click _only just in time.


	25. Trouble Lurking

25. Trouble Lurking

Bofur had yet to decide whether the rough burlap of the sack surrounding him smelled more like rancid mutton or perspiring feet. But it was hardly his fault that he found himself in such foul straits he had been dead-set against venturing near the fire- yet it seemed that soon he would only be dead, full stop.

He had tried to warn them that the only thing lurking off the path in these untamed lands was trouble in its lowest form- but had they listened? Of course not. One thing, though, was certain: if somehow they made it out of this, nobody would be forgetting that Bofur was right.


	26. Tears

26. Tears

Rent webs stared gloomily back at the diminished company of spiders that returned with the dusk. Gossamer strands and rope-thick threads alike hung limp and useless between the black boles of trees, torn and tattered by the stings of thirteen most uncooperative flies.

A wisp of breeze sighed in the leaves, causing the shredded nets to wave sadly in the twilight. The many eyes of the spiders glossed over them disappointedly: it seemed every thread in the lair had been severed, and without even a fat meal to compensate for the loss. Alas, these were tears it would take much to mend.


	27. Foreign

27. Foreign

Having stayed a week by now in Rivendell, Bilbo was almost used to the tall furniture, satisfied with the quality of the company, and well adapted to the flavour and amount of food to be found here. This elven valley was not a difficult place to find one's niche in; he felt he could stay here forever.

But this particular night, one thing- the practice that had seemed to him strangest from its onset- seemed especially poignant in its foreignness. Perhaps it was the apparent correspondence between the stars pricking the clear firmament with the clarity of the voices raised in song, but he suddenly wondered why the elves sang to the night sky.


	28. Sorrow

28. Sorrow

What bitter irony this is, my kinsman, that you, you who embarked full of hope on a quest to reclaim your kingdom, you who endured hardship upon hardship in order to reach these lands, you who upheld the title of your birthright against the demands of perceived foes, shall never rule as you fought to do.

After the legacy of our fathers, you poured body and soul into this conquest; you were willing to give all for your throne. Give all you did, leaving the rest of us behind to pick up where you left off- and to weep at the Mountain's feet.


	29. Happiness

29. Happiness

Even the musty home-smell seemed strange in his nostrils as he lay in bed staring at Bag End's low ceiling. The once-comfortable sheets felt unnatural on his skin; he tossed over yet again in hopes to situate himself beneath them.

He was back. It was odd, to say the least, but not all in a bad way. If he had learned one thing on his travels, it was just that: different is far from a negative term. Now it was a lesson the Baggins in him was delighted to apply to home. _Returning is bittersweet_, he tried to tell himself, but as he found his place beneath the covers, sleep had other ideas.


	30. Under the Rain

30. Under the Rain

Another great crash was heard amid the storm, and whether it came from thunder or giants or lightning splitting rock mattered little. You could say my brother and I were used to the sounds by now, clinging to the rocky mountainside against the wind for dear life, but you would be lying if you said each one didn't set at least my heart to pounding harder.

Torrents of rain pelted down, lashing our skin as the gale tore our hoods from our heads; for the thickness of the veil of droplets in the darkness- even illuminated by lightning- I but barely made out the black outline of a cave in the mountainside.

I turned to meet Kili's eyes, and he nodded, smiling somewhat mischievously. "Looks safe to me," he said.


	31. Flowers

31. Flowers

Stooping to examine one bay in the sea of clover rising to my knees, I take a single pink petal between my fingers, rubbing its narrow surface gingerly. I startle a bee from a bloom nearby, and it buzzes past my ear, off to drink from another floral well.

A breeze ruffles the field, and I inhale. Summer rides on the air, made known by the aromas of plants in full blossom and earth warm and fertile beneath the sun. I have not the luxury to tarry long here, though; the axe in my hand reminds me of my duty even as one of the mares approaches.

Even from a distance, I catch something about "visitors" in her whinny.


	32. Night

32. Night

If it is black in this forest in the daylight, if on the sunniest of days but the fewest slivers of green light make their way down through the dense boughs, it is an abyss at night. For that reason, we lit a campfire- and drew the moths; for that reason, we approached the feasting people- and became separated as we now are.

As the echoes of the dwarves' calls fade further and further away from me in the veiling shadow, I soon cease to cry out. Afraid to navigate toward the voices, I sink to the ground, alone in the endless night.


	33. Expectations

33. Expectations

Apparently, I was wrong. When our fourteen guests arrived but a fortnight ago, bedraggled escaped prisoners hardly looking the part of Thrain's heirs, part of what they have done I expected them to do.

I fully anticipated their taking advantage of the people's fickle, naive hearts, scavenging off the gifts and hospitality of Lake-town's commoners until it was time for them to move off and beggar somewhere else. I grieved- and still do- to think what such expenditure would do to our economy, but what else could I do save let the people dream?

But now, watching them row away toward Erebor, I see that I was wrong.

_**And a great thank-you to my **_**Guest _reviewer! I'll keep in mind that you like seeing Beorn. :)_**


	34. Stars

34. Stars

A worm on wings, he slips forth in silence from the Mountain's yawning entrance. The night is clear, cold and biting as a knife's blade; the winter stars hang above, piercing the firmament with alabaster beams. It is long since last they reflected off of these golden-red scales.

The worm ascends, rising, rising, until at last his pinions span the sky; a sudden storm cloud come out of the deadly East; a carrion bird discontent to scavenge. His flight down the river is almost unmarked- _almost_.

But the fire that soon consumes Esgaroth is still brighter than any star.


	35. Take My Hand

35. Take My Hand

The still-high lowest branch of the pine quivered as Dori clambered as gently as possible down onto it. One hand steadying himself, he reached down, down, down with the other, stretching until he felt his right shoulder's sinews would simply snap- and then both he and Bilbo would become supper for the approaching wolves.

"Reach, Baggins!" The command was more concerned than scolding; though Bilbo's back was to them, his position on the bough lent him vision of dozens of pairs of canine eyes. But reach as Hobbit and Dwarf might, their hands remained inches apart, which is how Dori found himself descending from safety even as the Wargs drew nearer.


	36. Precious Treasure

36. Precious Treasure

Sometimes, it was unbearable: Its weight pressing down upon his fleshless finger, Its presence gnawing at his consciousness. The invisibility It gave him rarely felt like the magic trick, the clever feat, that it should have; he felt transparent only because the item he bore overshadowed him- yet somehow this became safety.

The closer his ties to It became, the more he learned he could forget; the more mastery It gained of him, the more he lost himself, morphing into nothing but a shadow possessed by the Ring. Even this, though, was precious to him. Nonentity is far easier to bear than remorse.


	37. Eyes

37. Eyes

The red beam of an intelligent reptilian eye had greeted the invisible burglar upon his second entry into the dragon's lair; now, the same gaze held him frozen, captive, his mind a blank slate onto which were being written thoughts that had never dared flit across it.

They say that a dragon's spell turns one to stone, freezes him in place, cements him where he stands and forces him to listen, but stone, if trapped, is adamant; it is not easily moved, but likewise it is not easily changed. If such is the case, a dragon's eyes make one rather a sponge than stone.


	38. Abandoned

38. Abandoned

"Presumed Dead." It was the unpleasant phrase no one in Hobbiton had yet dared to speak aloud. Yet everyone knew (and if they didn't know, they guessed) that Bilbo Baggins would not be returning to the Shire. But now, as Grubbs, Grubbs, and Burrowes prepared to begin the auction, the clamour of sentiments- both spurious and well-intended- sounding off the walls of abandoned Bag End seemed to finalize the common assumption.

"The Took in him came out, in the end"; "A fine gentlehobbit he was, before he lost his wits and dashed off into the blue"; "I've always said never to go mixing up with Outsiders, and now see where it's gotten Mr. Bilbo."

Around noon, everyone saw indeed.


	39. Dreams

39. Dreams

It was all Bombur could do to put one leaden foot in front of the other. He had been awake for a grand total of four hours, and during none of them had he been glad about it. Weary, hungry walking beneath a labyrinth of black trees was a poor exchange for the limitless fine provender of the woodland king's table, and he was more than ready to return to that feast and remain there in pleasure for the (certainly short) balance of his life.

If he must indeed starve to death, it seemed far better to starve amid dreams of food.


	40. Rated

40. Rated

"He is, I assure you-" Gandalf paused to raise his pipe to his lips. "-one of the best treasure-hunters in his class." The wizard inhaled, then exhaled a single shapely smoke-ring to hover along the stone ceiling of the hall.

"What makes you so confident in this Halfling?" Thorin pressed. "What about him rates a place in my company? I am loath to take- to risk having- a stranger on a venture such as this."

"To begin with, he comes from a very good family, and to end with..." Gandalf trailed off momentarily. "To end with you will just have to meet him."


	41. Teamwork

41. Teamwork

Beneath the darkening winter sky, the rumour of Bolg's army could already be felt in the earth by those gathered around Erebor. As the tarnished armour of his troops came into view, the threat became infinitely more real, though the shrieking bats above the goblins had heralded their coming hours before- almost before the three races had been united.

In a display of harmony rarely exhibited among Elves, Men, and Dwarves at once, all present had come to the grim acceptance of the fact that they could either band together or perish, setting aside every grievance save that against the Orcs.


	42. Standing Still

42. Standing Still

Petrified by the sun's first exposing rays one May dawn a shorter time ago than it seems, the trolls now serve as but a warning; gateposts, if you will, marking entry into the wilds of the North: "Beware!" they seem to say.

Now implanted permanently beneath the very sun they should have known to cower before, they are harmless, even laughable, as laughable as the adventure had with them already is. A mother bird has already built her nest behind Tom's immoveable ear.

Frozen in time, they remain here, standing still. Standing still, they'll remain here until they crumble.


	43. Dying

43. Dying

He has been down here for an eternity, diminishing, starving even as he is consumed. The darkness, the solitude, the Ring have been devouring him for far longer than they should; were he made of fibers less tough, he would be dead. He knows this, and every day that he awakens into his misery, he marvels.

But as the days, the years, the centuries drag on, as his rotting teeth sink with vanishing enthusiasm into whatever food he can scrounge together, as his prominent bones begin to grind into the mountain-rock that serves as his bed, he begins to understand. Dying will be no easy feat.


	44. Two Roads

44. Two Roads

Beneath the eaves of the forest I, too, will terribly soon be entering, I must take my leave of the Dwarvish company. Regardless of the path I choose, Mirkwood lies before me, and on both roads lie duty and displeasure.

It grieves me to abandon Thorin and his kin, especially now, when I fear they will soon begin to need me most of all. As I told them, though, this is their own adventure, after all. But far worse is the road that I know I must take: to the wild South of Mirkwood where the trees are woven with shadow and battle awaits.


	45. Illusion

45. Illusion

Balin set his back against the cold stone of his cell's wall, heaving a sigh as he pushed a remarkably clean plate away from him. He shut his eyes in hopes that, if he kept them closed long enough, he would awaken and find this miserable existence to have been a nightmare all along.

Here, behind the bars and spellbound doors of the Elvenking, hope had finally fled from him. It had always been a risk, always been a long shot that their company would even reach their destination, much less defeat the Dragon and reclaim their kingdom. Now, imprisoned for what would easily turn into one hundred years, all Thorin's great plans had been shattered for the illusion they were.


	46. Family

46. Family

When the raven alighted, descending from the winter sky like a shadow from the pages of old tales, Dain had taken notice. It had been years beyond count since last he spoke with any bird, even since he had had news of Thorin, but that little stopped him as soon as he learned why the bird had come.

All the wealth of Erebor, mountains of gold and gems from a time long past, would have been enough incentive for anyone to muster an army and go forth to war, but neither would those riches have been enough to keep him away. Thorin called for help, and Dain had every intention of answering.


	47. Creation

47. Creation

"Is that..." Bilbo's trailing question cleaved Thorin's reverie, causing him to glance up from the small sculpture in his hand.

"A dragon?" The King Under the Mountain looked almost nostalgic as he fingered the golden trinket. "Yes. It was one of my own projects as a youth, my first created completely unaided." He paused, dark eyes flickering bittersweet amusement. "Ironic, is it not?" he mused.

Bilbo remained silent, lips twisting briefly into a smile, before he- on a whim- reached out his hand. "May I?"

"Of course." The hobbit took the statue, examining its intricacy and craft, feeling the ridges in the dragon's wings, the tiny bumps on its golden skin. "Keep it," Thorin continued, smiling wryly, "what a souvenir it will make."


	48. Childhood

48. Childhood

"_His wealth shall flow in fountains, the rivers golden run_..."

My son's murmured singing and louder humming seemingly had not stopped since the arrival of the party of Dwarves out of the forest now over a fortnight ago. His friends were to blame, that I knew; spurred on by the excitement of their own parents, the boy comrades had taken to joining the revelers outside the temporary residence of our terribly welcome guests, inviting my son to join them.

It should not have bothered me so much: what was the harm in a little childhood hope and fun? But I had a sneaking suspicion that many would end up disappointed.

"Bain," I inquired, "may I have a bit of silence?"

**(Somewhat) Helpful Clarification: Bain is Bard's son and eventual heir.**


	49. Stripes

49. Stripes

Bifur was fairly confident he had never been happier to veritably collapse onto the ground. The small dell found along the first path east of the Mountains seemed peaceful and secluded enough, but even if Thorin's company had found themselves in the midst of a goblin drinking-hall, this particular dwarf felt he could not have gone a step further.

Leaning against a relatively soft bush behind him, he sat for a moment and simply breathed in and out- before the burning in his ankles caught up to him again. Gingerly, he reached down to slip off his boots, then his socks, finally running a gentle finger down the crimson stripes left by goblin whips. Whatever Gandalf might say, he was _not_ going back in there.


	50. Breaking the Rules

50. Breaking the Rules

He knew it wasn't a good idea. He knew that the danger of becoming lost- or other things worse- was even greater than the pangs in all of their stomachs.

But the flare of red light looked so inviting in the darkness of Mirkwood, like a piece of home and a token of hospitality in comparison with the hungry, weary path they had trodden for days? weeks? months? And Bombur had only just begun laying out his dream-feast once more: cool, rich wine, ripe fruits, warm meats... Oh, he was ravenous.

And for the first time, Thorin's stomach ruled his judgment.

**And here we are at the halfway point in this drabble series! Thank you to everyone who's made it thus far! :)**


	51. Sport

51. Sport

The resounding echoes of yet another crashing boulder far below shook the very cleft the we were sheltering under even without the help of the thunder. Shouts, laughter, bone-jarring thuds: such were the products of the giants' rowdy sport. The thunderstorm, it seemed, had brought them out.

Soon, complaints about the weather and concerns about the sportsmen below us- and their potentially deadly playthings- arose. But I shut my eyes against the lightning, the boulders, even my companions' faces. As I attuned my ears- momentarily- to the rain alone, all was briefly serene before I was obliged to reply.


	52. Deep in Thought

52. Deep in Thought

He closes his eyes in the darkness of the Mountain's inner chambers, rolling over once again on the stone that has yet to become comfortable. Even with layers of blankets padding it, his bones seems to grind into the rock- and his adamant pillow is hardly any better. Desperate for thought of anything save his discomfort, the burglar's mind wanders.

Tonight, it wanders down a familiar path, one well-worn and oft-trodden in the past few days. The armies gathered outside Erebor's gate, the fate of his friends- and ultimately his pillow, dance across his mind, and at last deciding his course, he rises.


	53. Keeping A Secret

53. Keeping A Secret

"Have any decided to speak yet?"

Two mornings after the company's imprisonment, Thranduil was somewhat curious. It was hardly that the condition of the dwarves was pressing; in fact, a part of him felt sure that the longer they remained in the palace, the safer his realm would be. However, some prideful corner of him was more than a bit ruffled by the fact that information was being withheld from him- particularly by Naugrim.

"No, my lord," replied the chief of the guards, caught in his tracks crossing the throne room, "not a word. They seem intent on keeping their secrets."


	54. Tower

54. Tower

From the outermost skirts of Mirkwood, I turn one final time to face Dol Guldur. The ancient black tower stands leering on the edge of sight, smoke still emanating from its rooftop. Seated high on a hill, the tower is nigh unassailable; gratefully, though, our attack met far less resistance than was anticipated. Even our efforts against him seem but to have played into my younger brother's plans; I do not think we will lose track of him for long.

But with great effort, I force the cares from my mind as I turn from Dol Guldur again; there is need of me at Erebor.

**Credit to AzureSkye23 for Gandalf and Sauron as brothers!**


	55. Waiting

55. Waiting

Strategy, cunning- why is it that we drakes use them but as a last resort? When brute strength fails us, when even blasts of fire cannot serve our purpose, our flames of wrath cool, and we probe the recesses of our minds for a surer weapon. Today, mine is patience.

Here I lie on the bed of gold conformed to my body's shape, with a single eye open, focused on the tunnel whence I know my mysterious burglar came. He will return; thieves are never satisfied, I know this- but how can I? Because I know thieves: I am one.


	56. Danger Ahead

56. Danger Ahead

In his defense, he hadn't really much option. Rushed out the door, contract in hand, by a most insistent wizard, dashing through a sluggish Hobbiton morning to the doors of the Green Dragon, there was really very little time for Bilbo to come to a cognizant decision.

What with the enchantment- but little of the unsettlement- of the previous night having dissipated with the morning sun, any (remaining) portion of him appealed to by the perils of adventure had all but vanished entirely. He knew exactly what he was doing: rushing down peaceful lanes and byways into danger ahead. In his defense, he hadn't really much option.

Perhaps it was better that way.


	57. Sacrifice

57. Sacrifice

As a tear slipped unbidden down the furrows of Balin's worn features, the injustice of it all smote him as a blow. Orcrist rested gently on the tough soil at the mountain's roots, silver now in the foe-less tranquility of a fiercely bright early winter morning.

Balin had known Thorin's fate- Balin had seen Thorin's body- before now, but here at his king's grave, the death was truly final. And it was beyond unfair. The kingdom that Thorin had dreamt of, lived for, risked everything for, would never be his. He had always said he would sacrifice anything for it; now he had sacrificed too much.


	58. Kick in the Head

58. Kick in the Head

"One-fourteenth share"- that had been the crux of the terms. Though hardly the already well-off burglar's sole motivation, it had been his agreement, nonetheless, and it lay quietly behind each and every one of his adventures. From the dangers of becoming trolls' dinner to the hungry whips under the mountains; from escaping goblins to be caught by wolves to starving in the forest; a bad cold, a jaunt into Smaug's lair, singed heels, and the thick of battle: all for that fourteenth, the fourteenth that he ultmately attempted to trade for peace.

The irony? He never got it.


	59. No Way Out

59. No Way Out

"How much were they given in supplies?" Bard demanded, allowing a hand to rest briefly on the green cloth of the tent before continuing to pace its length. "How long, roughly, do you think they can hold out?"

"No longer than a few weeks, sir," was the reply, stuttered nervously out by some representative or other of the Master, now in the service of Girion's heir.

"Excellent. In that case, we have only to wait. Tell the Elvenking we remain here, and have the same word sent back to Esgaroth. Thorin Oakenshield has no way out but through us."


	60. Rejection

60. Rejection

The yellow roll of measuring tape fell from Otho's suddenly limp hands as he whirled around to see the commotion sparked by the words, "He's alive!"

It was impossible, and both he and Lobelia blinked several times before coming to the disappointing conclusion that the figure standing in Bag End's round doorway was indeed their presumed-dead cousin. There stood Bilbo Baggins in the flesh (if somewhat leaner and tanner) and he surveyed the nub of the auction with wide eyes.

Otho sighed, dolefully rolling up the measuring tape and placing it in his pocket. Bag End, it seemed, would not yet be theirs.


	61. Magic

61. Magic

The smoke of Gandalf's second explosion of the day had diffused even into the side-tunnel that the shackled Dwarvish company (plus one) had been ushered into. The sparks it sent flying rained down upon the goblins lingering in the hall without; Bilbo still couldn't get the sight and sound of the burst of blue flame out of his mind.

The wandering wizard was known for his fireworks, certainly, but here in the hopeless dark beneath the mountains, his way with fire seemed to be more than just an acquired skill. Was it magic? Power? Art?

What _was _Gandalf, anyway?


	62. Fairy Tale

62. Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a king of Dwarves embarked on a quest to reclaim his throne. He braved the perils of the road, to slay a dragon as his aim. At last, he reached his destination, ran his fingers through the gold he'd dreamt of, watched its reptilian guard take wing to his death.

Soon, he donned his armour, as his supposedly abandoned treasure gained the attention of four armies beside his own. Jeweled helm, glimmering mithril corslet, a sword almost as renowned as its wielder: he was soon ready.

Ultimately, he gave everything for his kingdom; everyone else lived happily ever after.


	63. Do Not Disturb

63. Do Not Disturb

He winces as a bare and invisible foot brushes a pile of gold coins, sending them scattering several inches- toward the sleeping monster all too near them. The burglar's eyes are trained on his object, a golden cup brimming with a fair sampling of all the treasure of the ancient hoard.

Creeping ever closer to it, he casts a glance to his left. There lurks Smaug, whose heavy, sleep-laden breathing emanates tendrils of smoke into the hall's still air. As Bilbo reaches his prize, he clenches his eye shut, hoping not disturb the dragon's repose at the last.


	64. Multitasking

64. Multitasking

It was far from easy, playing host and candidate and entrepreneur all at once. But somehow Bilbo, returning cautiously to his full parlor with Gandalf's requested lamp, was managing to perform (in some fashion, that is) the feat.

The hours since teatime had been an intricate balancing act- both literally and figuratively- whether he tried to weigh his Tookish daring against the Bagginses' common sense or to carry heaps of dishes out of the dining room. Between attempting to keep track of his thirteen guests' names and appetites, listening to their congested history, and at last being offered a position to... burgle? for them, it had been, to say the least, a busy day.


	65. Horror

65. Horror

All that time in the barrel must have effected some serious damage on Thorin's reasoning capacities. It was the only explanation Bilbo could conjure up for the King Under the Mountain's latest request of him. Him? Strut down that tunnel down to meet heaven-knows-what to expect? Alone? The idea nauseated him.

Of all the horrors he had seen under the hills and through the woods, nothing could compare with marching directly into the dragon's lair in terms of terror. His stomach was in knots and his heart had clambered its swift way into his chest. He _couldn't_ go in there.


	66. Traps

66. Traps

There is no doubt in my mind that Thorin will take the bait. This particular treasure, the luminescent white crystal that at the moment kindles Bard's hand scarlet, is- as the burglar has said- the very heart and soul of the King Under the Mountain. It is the pivotal leverage we have lacked in our attempts at bargaining.

But do I consider it a trap? Not on our end, at any rate, though a part of me remains suspicious of such a blatant good turn of fortune. Yet, I smother the seed of doubt, sufficing myself to know that one of the Naugrim will do anything for his treasure.

**Big thanks to ****_ByASouthernLady_****, whom I can't PM, for her reviews!**


	67. Playing the Melody

67. Playing the Melody

Hands poised on the enchanted, ancient strings of a golden harp, Fili sighed as he struck the first chord. Music, ever a solace to override even the direst of times, seemed merited at the moment, and Kili, then others, soon followed Fili's lead, strumming harps, beating drums, and chafing viols.

And so they performed, an impromptu orchestra with Fili playing the melody, trying and succeeding to cover the undercurrent of despair with the profound notes of Dwarvish music. Chords and flourishes echoed off the cavernous ceiling of Erebor's grandest hall, each crescendoing measure triumphing over its predecessors.

And soon, Thorin began to hope.


	68. Hero

68. Hero

It was naught but good fortune- or perhaps 'twas the will of my Lord- that called my attention to the racket resounding from the Wargs' clearing that fateful night. It was curiosity, of course, that bid me gather a company of my vassals and map our flight above the burning pines of the vale. The volley of pinecones, blazing with a prismatic array of light, first caught my attention, and it only followed that I should wonder whence they came.

I flew lower, even as the laughter of the goblins and howls of the wolves escalated, and, as my people often do, played vicarious hero in Manwë's stead.


	69. Annoyance

69. Annoyance

In my people's defense, it had been years beyond count since any of the Naugrim had last visited Imladris. They were within their rights, I suppose, to get all the laughs they could out of the strange sight of thirteen somewhat haggard Dwarves- and not to mention one plump Hobbit looking quite out of place- tramping in file on ponies down the winding path into the valley.

So, "Do forgive them," I replied, with difficult deadpan, to Thorin Oakenshield's annoyed scowl. "They mean nothing by it but humour; if you don't care for levity, I doubt you'll last long here."


	70. 67 Percent

70. 67%

A grimace on his still-damp face, Kili surveyed the bedraggled remains of what had before the journey upriver been a quite hardy company of questing dwarves. The barrels of both their freedom and their torture lay some distance away from the unhappy crew, gleaming in the pale light of the first cold stars.

Two-thirds of the company was sprawled upon the riverbank in something like a stupor, and Kili, though in far better condition than all, could hardly blame them. With a sigh envious of their repose, he turned to the drenched burglar to receive the plan of action for those of the party on their feet.


	71. Obsession

71. Obsession

It is here.

It is here; it has to be here. It- the heart of the Mountain, the Arkenstone of my fathers- is not an article that I thought would be easily hidden. Sifting through heaps of jewels, rummaging amid stacks of mithril armour, probing every inch of the torchlit hall with an eye of scrutiny, I have combed the hoard to the best of my ability: but to no avail.

I wince to hold in my curses, clenching my eyes shut and biting my lip till the skin breaks and I can taste my own blood. I will find it; I swear I will.

It is here.


	72. Mischief Managed

72. Mischief Managed

His shaky shadow rarely belied him within the Elvenking's forever dim halls. Though fading literally into obscurity without the light of day to reveal him, he at first found himself retreating to the darkest corners, most forsaken ends of stone corridors for fear of discovery.

But the longer he stayed, the bolder he became- the bolder he had to be. As the weeks went by, such monumental feats as pilfering a fresh pie or ration of venison had grown commonplace, and now, as he replaced the Chief of the Guards' keys, he wondered if he was perhaps a rather good burglar after all.


	73. I Can't

73. I Can't

Some days- not many, but some- I would open my eyes to the morning sky and wish to roll back over, forsaking the quest in favour of blessed repose. The thought of getting up, putting one foot infinitely in front of the other without seeming to advance, was too much for me.

And some evenings here on the doorstep- not many, but some- I would sit and stare at the rising moon, hoping against hope for Durin's Day to have come. When twilight would overtake the sun, I did nothing but inwardly weep. I could not go on like this.

But I did and I have, though now I must face the final impossibility: slaying the Dragon.


	74. Are You Challenging Me?

74. Are You Challenging Me?

He was the naysayer, the doomsman, the frowning grey cloud to taint every ray of sunshine. He dealt in ideals, he dealt in what-ifs, he dealt in worries and omens that found their tangled roots in his mind's dark recesses. Regardless of his lineage, it was brilliantly clear to me that Bard was not the material of a king.

I, however, never pursued a crown. My hands and mind were devoted to facts and figures, plans and progress. I was level-headed: a man of action with feet planted firmly on the ground. And thus it was a puzzle how he could challenge me.


	75. Mirror

75. Mirror

By the pale sheen of our own lamp-like eyes, the reflection of our emaciated frame is difficult to make out against the ebony face of the lake. It has been long, too long, since last we paused to examine our features, but strangely, we are not surprised by the haggard, repulsive image the water reveals.

Scalp bare but for a few strands of hair and the scratches of the rocks; drawn, leathery skin; prominent bones and darting eyes that give us a look to match the insatiable hunger we feel within. The one hand with which we reach up to touch our face is nearly without flesh. The other hand tightly clutches a precious, gold Ring.

**Thanks, once again, to ****_ByASouthernLady_**** for her reviews!**


	76. Broken Pieces

76. Broken Pieces

One hardly knows where to begin. It is a monumental task, the restructuring of such a realm, and especially burdensome for one- such as I am- who never imagined he would be the one performing it.

Now, as I, King Under the Mountain in feeble stead of the title's true bearer, take a solemn tour through the musty caverns and darkened halls of Erebor, gently clearing my walkway of crumbling skulls and rusted tools, I hardly feel adequate for the job.

Yet what choice do I have? The burden of leadership falls squarely onto my shoulders, and with it the task of molding this realm's ruined fragments into something beautiful again.


	77. Test

77. Test

Looking with satisfaction on the rune now decorating Bilbo Baggins' round door, I set down my staff and turned my back on Bag End, analyzing the results of my test as I traversed the dirt lane leading down the Hill.

He was hardly the hobbit I remembered; the starry-eyed youngster enamoured of tales from the wide world had been replaced by a rotund middle-aged bachelor with a fondness for the familiar. I, though, was not so easily to be deceived.

My words with Holman***** had not proved aimless. Talks with Dwarves? Visits with Elves?

Indeed, there was more adventure left in Bilbo than he himself knew.

***I refer here (and throughout this piece) to "The Quest for Erebor," found in Tolkien's ****_Unfinished Tales_****.**


	78. Drink

78. Drink

The oak's already-blushing leaves drooped beneath the weight of myriad raindrops, which now slid, sadly and singularly, off the tree and onto the forest floor below.

Plink. Yet another droplet smote the side of Dwalin's head, missing the target of his open mouth. He had been the first of the company to awaken; at first, he was delighted to hear the muffled roar of rain pounding on Mirkwood's canopy.

The torrent could quench him, if only he was patient. So he thought, but to stand agape beneath the branch, obsessed by every drop that fell, soon proved more torturous than to thirst.


	79. Starvation

79. Starvation

The only action this Dwarf seems capable of describing to me is starvation, and frankly, I am not surprised. Such has doubtless been the fate of many who dared to wander in my realm; I know travelers often perish here, ensnared by the confounding shadows that lurk beneath Mirkwood's pathless trees.

Yet, it is for that reason that they do not venture here without a cause. This forest's reputation precedes it, and starvation is often one of the kinder demises legend holds it to offer. As for my prisoner, chances have it his capture will prove him luckier than his friends.


	80. Words

80. Words

A game of riddles: it's classic. My invisible burglar appears to know that a dragon receives twisted amusement from occupying his ample mind with mysteries posed by his prey, poring over the slightest intricacies of wording when it comes to the unknown.

And why should we not? It becomes terribly boring to always have the upper hand.

When sheer size and strength alone are enough to make one champion over any victim that comes his way, even dining, after a while, proves mundane. And if one knows he will win regardless, what harm is there in having some fun before he claims his prize?


	81. Pen and Paper

81. Pen and Paper

Of course he had personalized stationery. Of course he did. Polishing off the last of six eggs, I stared somewhat morosely at the sheet of paper Gandalf had placed in front of me.

Our audacious burglar had seen fit to sleep in, leaving us not only to fix our own breakfast but to get a late start, as well. "_How unfortunate_," I had remarked to the wizard on learning this. "_I suppose we'll just have to leave without him_."

"_He'll be along_," Gandalf promised, and with that dropped the sheet and a quill to accompany it into the middle of my breakfast.


	82. Can You Hear Me?

82. Can You Hear Me?

At first, Bofur thought that the rapping on the lid of his barrel was only the sound of the cramped vessel being knocked once more against rocks in the river. Even the pitch-black interior of the barrel seemed to revolve before his eyes; his head throbbed mercilessly. It took a few moments to orient himself.

"Hello?" The voice was Bilbo's, the very burglar who had gotten him into these straits. "Who's in there?"

Bofur only moaned in answer. Soon enough, his lid had been removed, and the hobbit stood peering in.

"Thorin," he called, "he isn't in so bad of shape!"

Bofur, however, begged to differ.


	83. Heal

83. Heal

There were hardly even smoldering ruins to gaze sadly upon by the wan sunrise of the morning after. With two thirds of Lake-town drowned forever beneath the Dragon's carcass, it seemed healing for the village would be impossible.

Financial and geographical obstacles loomed over what hopes were to be had of rebuilding; it was clear that life could never be the same for the people of what once was Esgaroth.

Bard looked north to the Mountain, spotting at its feet the desolate vale he should have ruled. To his mind, only one option remained for the Lake-men: to start wholly anew.


	84. Out Cold

84. Out Cold

"The Eagles!" Two small words- two critical words- would mark the hobbit's last moments of consciousness.

Whence the stone came, or why it was loosed, Bilbo never knew. Just as hope had begun to rise in his heart, riding on the Eagles' golden wings; just as the tide of the battle's tumultuous sea had begun at last to turn with favour on Erebor's defenders: it chose that moment to plummet to the battleground from some struggle above.

It struck him- singularly, forcefully, effectively- and before he could even acknowledge the throbbing in his skull, the world dissolved to blackness around him.


	85. Spiral

85. Spiral

For miles around it could be seen: an ever-thickening ring rotating around Erebor's summit, black as winds from the East against the ashen sky of early winter. Birds, by the pair, by the dozen, by the flock, cawing ceaselessly as they spread the news of Smaug's demise.

Ominous, we thought their presence, even before we became aware of their purpose. It was the season of their migration; the only reason for their sojourning here by necessity would be great tidings. Judging by the carrion-fowl, they were tidings of woe. And so in fear we watched them gather, spinning forever around the mountain's summit.


	86. Seeing Red

86. Seeing Red

No goblin or Warg has dared come near the Carrock for years- with good reason, mind you- and upon my word they are not to begin doing so now. The wild yarns of the dwarves and their wizard have come to my ears at just the right moment; true or not, such tidings deserve to be heard by my ursine fellows.

The very idea- of such base, evil creatures trespassing on the territory of my folk- sickens me, infuriates me, sets me as I think of it on a course for vengeance. With these intentions, my skin shifts into that of a hulking black bear.


	87. Food

87. Food

Three puny wild strawberries and a bite or so of sorrel had hardly been enough to appease Bilbo's roaring stomach. Before eating the insufficient morsels of fruit, it had been two- going on three!- days since he'd had anything at all, and now even they were long gone, leaving him to wistfully inhale the aroma of meat roasting over the sky-high campfire.

But even eating it did little to satisfy him: His thoughts and fancies were dominated by notions of savoury bacon cooked to a perfect brown; of hot bread, dripping with butter, eaten on the lawn at Bag End under gentle sunshine.


	88. Pain

88. Pain

It did not always hurt us. It was beautiful once, long ago, before It isolated us, burned us, stretched us, sickened us, branded us forever with Its searing desire, a lust cutting so deep it mars everything it passes on its way to the soul.

There was no way to put It away, not really; the rock-turned-safe on our island showed us that hiding It was not the challenge. Hiding _from_ it was the real difficulty.

But now It is gone. Groping among the stones has yielded nothing but scrapes; it is not here.

And in Its painful absence, It is still beautiful.


	89. Through the Fire

89. Through the Fire

Whatever providence it was that persuaded us to venture out of the Mountain on that fated day, I am eternally grateful to it. It was the same guiding hand, I suppose, that ensured the construction of a back-door- just in case.

Just in case, perhaps, the Front Gate was too busy. Just in case one wanted to be alone in the fresh air, to survey the land about on the ledge that would later become Smaug's doorstep. Just in case one should need to flee in secret.

The singed beards of Thror and Thrain became proof of its usefulness.


	90. Triangle

90. Triangle

The small campfire flickered red in the glade, burning merrily as the Midsummer that had nearly arrived. Approaching it from north along the road, Gandalf could hardly decide which token was more disturbing: the notion of hungry trolls in the vicinity or the notion of (halfway) intelligent trolls traveling in a group. Both were, unfortunately, the present case.

The querulous threesome formed a triangle around the cooking-fire, leaving space for a conspicuous pile of sacks adjacent the flames. Dwarvish feet stuck out of every bag. He sighed as he prepared to speak up. It seemed this company could not be left alone!

**And a big thanks to _ByASouthernLady_, _AzureSkye23, _and a _Guest_ for their reviews! :D**


	91. Drowning

91. Drowning

Swift, ebony waters swirl under him, pulling him under, under, as he sinks. The boat speeds away, out from beneath him, leaving him alone to fix his eyes on the light as he futilely clutches the ancient, crawling roots implanted in the riverbank.

At last, they too slip away from him; his descent beneath the current is too swift to be waylaid by the company safe on the shore above. Water fills his lungs, surging, surging, until the feeling of euphoria he has never known accompanies drowning overwhelms him. All goes black- but with enchanted slumber rather than death.


	92. All That I Have

92. All That I Have

A surge of anger, red-hot as ravaging flames, rushes through the serpentine form: It is gone. Through nearly two centuries of ownership, he has become thoroughly familiar with all he has; he seldom sleeps for fear of leaving it unguarded. But when he does, with his ruby eyes' first opening, he takes inventory.

And now, the cup is gone. No, it is not the loss that infuriates him, goads him to act, wracks his essence with terror -he has never had use for such an article- rather it is the harrowing idea that perhaps his treasure is not secure after all.


	93. Give Up

93. Give Up

It did not feel as the free air ought. My mind, over the past days, weeks- was it months now?- had so glorified the outdoors, the notion of wind on my flesh, of sky and fresh air all the way up, up, up to it, that the oppressive shadows beneath the beeches did nothing but stifle me.

At first, on crossing the bridge, I tried to journey, to find my way, if not out, at least to some break in the endless natural beams upholding darkness woven in between, in hopes of breathing free. But as the trees began to blend together, I turned back for fear of losing myself.


	94. Last Hope

94. Last Hope

It had been there quite a while, lingering. Poised in the back of the quiver in what could be called the place of honour. Glossy raven's feathers protruded in three neat wings from the ebony shaft; his father had called it the lucky dart. And it waited.

As the other arrows, many arrows, disappeared around it, called one by one to the futile task of perhaps deterring the Dragon, it remained. Now tumbling loosely about with but one another companion, it remains.

The other dart, second-to-last, flies, misses. With the thrush's words, the archer pulls the black shaft from his quiver. It will find its mark.


	95. Advertisement

95. Advertisement

I could still smell the paint adorning my (potential) burglar's round front door. By the green wood's odour and sheen, its colour had seemingly been refreshed but recently- which was all the more reason to keep my next action silent and swift.

With a hefting of my staff, I reached up. Scratch, crunch, scratch. The new paint broke with a sound like the pawing of a mischievous pet, loved but banished, on the door, hoping against hope for its master to permit it in.

With four strokes for a b, half a pine tree for a d, and the polygon of a simple diamond, my burglar was in business.

**Credit for the appearance of the "thief's mark" goes to the scholarly folks over at Minas Tirith Forums!**

**And now off to get ready for my local LotR EE marathon! :D**


	96. In the Storm

96. In the Storm

Pallid lightning rent the sky; thunder shook the rocks at the feet of Erebor with volume to match the clash of sword on scimitar, dart on shield, blade on armour. Torrents of rain left thick, black fur to mat damply into slick clumps that shrunk the bear even in his wrath. Yet the water did not dismay him.

Since his arrival, he had assumed his only duty would be to fight, slaying goblins as was his pleasure, but on seeing the Dwarf's collapse, to the fury of his combat was added direction. With more tenderness than bear's wont, he lifted Thorin from the ground under the weeping sky.


	97. Safety First

97. Safety First

It is somewhat of a haven for us now, a tiny golden fortress, keeping us secure from harm so long as it rests on our finger. We slip It on; a thrill yet courses down our spine.

(Some sensations never lose their potency.)

Though It often feels exposing, as though the nigh-invisibility It renders but makes us the target of a single, watchful, deadly eye, our mind tells us that It hides us- and centuries of experimentation prove the fact.

(Tried and true, we will ever have faith in it.)

_Yet the pleasure of invisibility is that I can no longer see myself._


	98. Puzzle

98. Puzzle

As a thin smile of argent moon appeared beside the golden orb of the sun, something in the far recesses of Bilbo's mind was triggered. _Today... autumn's last sunset..._ He wondered absently if the Dwarves had noticed the celestial heralds of their holiday. _Isn't that what the twice-lit solstice means?_

A blur of grey-feathered, sallow-breasted movement crossed his peripherals. _The thrush_. It bent over the doorstep's central stone, and with its adamant beak began to tap upon the rock. _It knocks_.

The burglar cut his eyes toward Thorin as the pieces of the runes' riddle fell into place.


	99. Solitude

99. Solitude

The silence beneath the clicking of his pacing boots had grown to deafening volumes over the past (what Thorin assumed was) twenty-four hours. The lack of company, of conversation, was now highly conspicuous, all the more exacerbated by the fact that he had spent the last five months in constant companionship.

Once- and still- the brooding sort, who preferred solitude to a crowd in less-than-fortunate circumstances, now pined for camaraderie- nay, for the sound of another voice. But the thick wooden door in the way of his quest muffled even the passing of the elvish guards without. He had never been so alone.


	100. Relaxation

**Here you are, _Guest_! :)**

100. Relaxation

Map read, swords identified, elaborate travel plans laid, there remained nothing for the company to do in Imladris save enjoy their final night there. Lilting elvish melodies arrested Bilbo's ears, holding him enchanted as their makers danced beneath glimmering stars.

He held a fierce grip on the thankfully low balustrade behind which he stood in awe, watching, listening. Moonlight played off of gleaming hair and robes; lissom limbs flew hither and yon in perfect rhythm and unity. The elves' song was one of joy and peace, of summertime in Aman beneath the glow of Valimar.

_This is peace_, thought the hobbit, knowing all the while that his adventure had only begun.

**Here we are, finished with the countdown at last! Thank you very much to all of my faithful readers, and especially to my two daily reviewers, ****_AzureSkye23_**** and ****_ByASouthernLady_****! **

**Now, off to the theater! :D**


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